The Perfect Tattoo
by This Girl Called Beka
Summary: North of Fargo fic. Joey gets her tattoo. Please read and review. Go buy the movie on Amazon.com! It's great. Lisa Ryder (from Andromeda) played Joey.


**The Perfect Tattoo**

Joey pressed her cheek into the plush pillow in the hotel room, curling her arm under and around it, the blank postcard still clutched tightly between her fingers. So many things she wanted to say, so many thoughts running through her head, and she couldn't bring herself to write a single word. Catherine deserved more.

She blinked her tired, distant blue eyes, tears gathering at the rims as her index finger slid across the thin edges of the card, the pen held in her fist. For almost six years she had searched, chasing whispers and phantoms, always alone and on the move. Most days she held her chin high, and kept her sights trained on the horizon, never once losing faith. Most days she believed she would find her little angel, find her life again. Most days she found the will to smile.

But today was not one of those days.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she straightened the strap of her white tank top and slipped her arm out from under her pillow. The postcard was facedown in her fingers, and she reverently flipped it over, placing it in her palm. A dark cityscape spread across the card's face, the yellow lights of the skyscrapers dotting the black silhouette. 'New York' it said in fancy gold lettering. She spent the day there, her heart in her throat the entire time.

And in the end, this lead had been a dead end. Just like all the rest.

Blonde hair fell into her eyes, and Joey quickly pushed it behind her ears, putting the postcard aside. She would write later.

Now, she needed to get out. Fingering the twelve US dollars in her pocket, she left the hotel room. Her long strides carried her out into the twilight, along the sidewalks of the city. Most of the little shops were still open, their neon signs catching her attention as she passed.

She was never sure why she slipped into that particular shop, or what drew her to the display window in the first place. But once inside, none of that seemed to matter. "'Ello." Joey's sharp eyes focused on a large, round man seated behind the register just inside the doorway. Every inch of his exposed skin was tattooed, pierced, or a combination of both. She stepped toward him.

"Hi," she said curtly, not interested in dealing with him more than needed. "I was looking at the display in the window."

The man looked back at her, motionless, a hand on his Buddha-like belly. "See anything ya liked?" Joey gave a nod, and an hour later, she paid the man in US cash, and left.

Back in her cheap hotel, Joey curled up on the bed, once again looking at the postcard, one hand rubbing her sore shoulder. For the longest time she stared at the blank space, considering her words carefully. And when she knew just what she wanted to say, she slowly wrapped her fingers around the pen, reaching to get a hard-cover book to place in her lap under the card.

She began to write.

_Dear Catherine,_

_I'm writing today from New York City. I thought I might find you here, but I was wrong... I'm sorry, baby. I promise I'll keep looking. _

_I won't stop until I find you._

_I've been thinking about you all day. You must be so pretty, now...Eight years old tomorrow._

Joey stopped writing for a moment as she stared into nothing, her breath catching in her throat. There wasn't much space left on the card, and there was still so much to say.

It wasn't fair.

_I can almost picture you, now. Sitting at the table behind the biggest, prettiest cake and blowing out your candles... I wish I could be there, Catherine, but someday I'll make this up to you. Someday, _she wrote, forcing herself to believe what she said, _someday we'll be together again. _

_Eat a piece of cake for me._

_Love always, Mom._

She stared at those last few words, a single tear finally dripping down her cheek. She addressed the card to herself, to her address back home in Canada, and licked the stamp, pressing it in place. "I miss you," she whispered, tucking the card into her backpack before curling up tightly, hugging the pillow.

Her shoulder ached, and she rubbed it fiercely, without regret. Under her fingertips where they rubbed her skin, a broken heart was drawn. Cracked. Outlined in black, with a rose tucked under the right arch. The perfect tattoo.

_Finis_.


End file.
